


Break Me Out (of This Shell-Like Case I'm In)

by raspberrie



Category: The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Post-War, i have no idea what im doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-23
Updated: 2014-06-23
Packaged: 2018-02-05 21:25:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1832812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberrie/pseuds/raspberrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The War has ended and Snafu left. Eugene is back home, trapped in his dark and blood-stained mind with nowhere to turn. His life is crumbling in on itself. He needs... something.  </p>
<p>That something starts with a knock, a familiar voice, and an irrational, implausible, absolutely inconceivable realization.</p>
<p>Snafu came back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break Me Out (of This Shell-Like Case I'm In)

**Author's Note:**

> So, this took me a long time. And this is probably only the first part of it. I'm still debating on where I want to go with this. But here goes... I hope you like it.
> 
> P.O.V. of Eugene Sledge
> 
> The title is from the song Human by Daughter.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and this based off of the characters of the show, not the real people (to whom I mean no disrespect).

 

_Like all good fruit_

_the balance of life is_

_in the ripe and ruin_

_~_ Interlude 1 by Alt-J

 

**Summer**

Ever since he woke up on the train alone – Snafu, along with his curls and sharp-tongued mouth, gone without a trace – he’s had nightmares that leave him in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets, with the echo of artillery fire rattling around in his skull, reverberating in his ears. He knows he wakes his parents. Their tired, sad eyes that glance at him like he’s a lit fuse tells him so. 

He needs an escape. 

 

***

 

During the last of the summer months he wanders around outside for hours on end. He leaves when he wakes up, and only comes back when it starts getting too dark to see and when he knows his mother would start worrying. 

The day his father took him dove hunting without realizing that it was all too soon had consumed his mind for days. The not-right-weight of a gun that wasn’t his M-1 walking through familiar woods that somehow seemed all too foreign, his whole body itching with the indefatigable urge to check over his shoulder to make sure there weren’t Japs about to attack. The empty space at his side where Snafu and his smirk should have been. He couldn’t, he just... couldn’t.

His pipe and the birds kept him grounded. Kept him from flying up, up, and away with his thoughts, back, worlds away, to sly brushes of skin mixed in with the sound of mortar fire and the rat-tat-tatting of machine guns and the way Snafu said “Sledgehamma” in his ever-so-slow Cajun drawl. At least he liked to think that the preoccupations he had created kept his mind from wandering back to those God-forsaken specks of dirt. After a month of trying not to go back there – to leave it all behind and try to start a new life, he finally gave in. The memories came back (they never really left) and were stuck on replay. The feeling that parts of him were missing was more prominent than ever. 

His brother and Sid kept telling him it would get better. But it hadn’t. The nightmares were still there along with the memories. Snafu watching him, his gaze burrowing into Eugene’s skin, like a hot iron burning him to his core. Those pale, wide eyes that encased his entire being when they locked onto his own. Constricting him like a cobra suffocating it’s prey. Eugene needed the claustrophobia of those eyes again. He was wasting away without it. 

 

***

 

He talked in his sleep. Well, it wasn’t so much sleep, as a continuous string of nightmares. But after a while, Eugene just referred to whatever horrors his mind burdened him with in the night as dreams. They were too regular to be called nightmares anymore. (Besides, saying “dreams” opposed to “nightmares,” he thought might ease his mother’s mind if the topic was ever brought up (which it wasn’t).)

He relived the war in his dreams. But, ironically, the worst dreams weren’t of the war itself (the war that erupted when God had left the earth). The dreams that left him drenched with sweat, waking to the sound of his own voice crying out into the dark were the dreams where he is watching helplessly as Snafu is shot down, a bullet in his forehead, his abdomen – crying out in pain as he slowly bled out; or him falling behind as Eugene desperately tries to turn around and save him like he did on the airfield. Or, the worst one in Eugene’s opinion,Snafu walking away from his sleeping form with a sneer and a smirk meant to hurt as he turns on his heel and, not once looking back, exits the train as Eugene begs him to come back because Snafu was and is the only thing keeping him sane (or as sane as one can be after being to hell and back). 

Sometimes – very, very rarely – his dreams would be memories. Memories of Snafu’s skin. Of the way his mouth seemed to be made to hold a cigarette between his lips. Or his calloused hands on Eugene’s thighs and shoulders and chest and his heavenly mouth on his neck and anywhere else he could reach within the confines of a shallow foxhole. And in turn, Eugene’s hands running along Snafu’s sharp hipbones or over his too-prominent ribs, or his teeth sinking into a bony collar bone that tasted like sweat and blood and mud and just _Snafu_. Those chapped, cracked lips against his own in the silence and secrecy of the thick and humid darkness would come back as vividly as if they had never left. Dreams of his fingers curled and tangled in the mass of thick, dirty curls as they delved deeper into each others mouths, searching and licking and biting until both pairs of lips were swollen and bleeding. 

When those dreams came, he would wake with Snafu’s name on his lips, a half hard cock, and a desperation so intense his heart felt like it would either cave into itself or burst into a million pieces.

 

***

 

**Autumn**

Names are nothing until people grow to fit them. 

Sledge has always know Snafu as “Snafu”. He didn’t know him when he was a southern bell named Merriell Shelton before the war and before the incidents that led him to be nicknamed Snafu: Situation Normal, All Fucked Up.

Sledge didn’t fully understand why Snafu was called that until the first day on Peleliu. His unusual remarks, his stare, and his general insensitivity towards death. The persona about him that gave Eugene the sense that this was how Snafu was normally: all fucked up. 

Snafu gave Eugene his nickname: Sledgehammer, after taking the airfield. Sledge guessed Snafu deemed him worthy enough to get a nickname at that point, proved himself to not be a useless replacement. Or maybe the nickname was Snafu’s way of saying thank you for going back for him. The reason didn’t matter to Eugene, the only thing that mattered was that Snafu was the one to give it to him.

 

***

 

**Winter**

There are more ways than one to say “I love you.” There are more than just words. 

Snafu had always looked out for Sledge. Even in the beginning. Even when Snafu was trying to convince himself that Sledge was just another replacement bound to die – not someone to get attached to. From the comment about his shoes after landing on Peleliu to protecting Eugene from “germs” in the hills to dragging him away from Kathy to try and get him out of the line of fire on Okinawa, Snafu took care of him. 

Even when Eugene was angry at the world after Hillbilly and Ack-Ack died, even when he just couldn’t stand the war anymore and cracked on Okinawa, Snafu was there. Quietly, in the background, but still there.  

There are more ways than one to say “I love you,” and Snafu had said all that he could in the midst of war.

 

***

 

**Spring**

Someone was knocking at the door. 

Sledge had stopped caring. 

In the first months of being back, every time someone was at the door, or the telephone rang, his heart would skip a beat, always hoping that it, somehow, would be Snafu. It never was. Over time, he stopped caring about who came to call and for what reason, because none of them were ever Snafu, so what did it matter to Eugene. 

So Eugene kept his eyes on his biology book. 

That is until he heard the unmistakable slurred Cajun lit of Merriell Shelton.  

He thought he was imagining things. _Told_ himself he was imagining things, because this couldn’t be Snafu because Snafu lived in Louisiana and Snafu had left him and why would someone who left come back. It didn’t add up.  

So he went to the door and stood beside his mother who was smiling politely and questioning the Marine on her front porch. 

And, despite Sledge’s rationalizations of how it couldn’t _possibly_ be Snafu, there he was, his long lanky frame standing in the doorway in his uniform and duffel bag slung over his shoulder looking lost and uncertain (two emotions Sledge had never seen Snafu wear before).   

It was obvious that whatever Snafu was planning on saying to Sledge or his mother fled his mind as soon as he caught sight of Eugene.   

It was actually quite endearing, Eugene noted in the back of his mind. Snafu standing there with his cigarette-less mouth parted, like a lost puppy, with a look that was a mixture of terror and a sort of  hunger that was reminiscent of a starving man looking at a feast set out for a King. A look that made it obvious that Snafu had thought about Sledge just as much as Sledge had thought about Snafu. A look that made Eugene’s mind melt into mush like it had when Snafu had first slammed his lips onto Eugene’s and pried open his mouth with his tongue. 

(It was on Peleliu. In the first 3 weeks in the hills. It was a night after a horrendously long standoff and then, finally, advancement. Snafu and Sledge were up keeping watch while the others slept close by. It was pouring down rain. Sledge hadn’t slept, couldn’t sleep, eyes fixed on the dark horizon. He mind was filled with white noise and he lost all track of time when someone pinched him in the ribs, hard enough to bruise. He turned to his right, jolted out of his mindless train of thought, to find Snafu in his personal space a little more than usual. Eugene looked over at him through the drips from his helmet and remembered seeing this look on Snafu’s shadowed face. Like he dared Sledge to do something foolish like lean in and close the (very little) space between their lips. Sledge didn’t get the chance to, because next thing he knew Snafu’s tongue was down his throat, his mouth tasting of rain, dirt and tobacco, and something in his brain clicked, like a mortar round sliding into place, and it was the most wonderful thing Sledge had ever felt.) 

“Hey, Sledgehamma.” 

Eugene wanted to kiss him or hit him and he couldn’t decide which so he just replied with, “Hey, Snaf.” 

His mother looked between the two boys with creases of confusion lining her face.  

“Mother,” Eugene said, not looking away from those vast eyes that seem to swallow whatever they are looking at whole. “This is Sn–” he had started to say Snafu, but thinking that he should be a little more formal for his mother’s sake, he corrected himself: “This is Merriell Shelton. He was part of my mortar squad.”  

He didn’t hear his mother as realization took hold, making her smile a little warmer as she beckoned Shelton into the house saying something along the lines of how nice it was for him to come by and, seeing his duffle bag, mentioning that he could stay for as long as he likes. Shelton thanked her very much for the offer but said he could just find a hotel room in town. (He was actually being polite and courteous and it was strange.) But of course, Mary-Frank being the southern-born and -raised woman she was, wouldn’t hear of it and insisted he stay in their guest room, because any friend of Eugene’s was always welcome in their home.

Snafu took off his cap and Mary-Frank turned to Sledge who was staring at Snafu, still uncertain of whether or not he wanted to slam him up against a wall and kiss him or punch the living shit out of him. Maybe both.

“Eugene, won’t you show your friend to his room?” His mother asked, expecting him to be as polite as she was. “I’ll tell your father we are going to have a guest and then lunch will be at 2:00.” she said with what sounded like only slightly forced cheer as she realized that she just offered this boy, this soldier, her home for the foreseeable future. But, she reassured herself, he may be good for Eugene, he might be able to get her son back to some semblance of his old self again. So she decided not to worry too much.

“Yeah.” Eugene said bitterly, finally snapping back to reality. He picked up Snafu’s duffel, and started to climb (more like stomp) up the stairs to the guest bedroom with Snafu at his heels.

As soon as the door of the bedroom clicked shut behind him and locked, Eugene rounded on Snafu.

 

***

 

“ _What the FUCK, Shelton_? You just get up and leave without a single fucking goodbye, leaving me to wake up on the train _alone_ , and then months later, _months_ , show up at my front door and, for what? Why? Why the _fuck_ are you here?” Eugene saw red and it was such a fucking relief to just yell at someone. To not care about being proper and polite, because he was done with that shit. He was done with acting like what he saw and did never happened. Done with trying to convince himself he didn’t need Snafu. Done with everyone tiptoeing around him, afraid to get too close, like he was a live wire, an exposed nerve, a lit fuse ready to blow at any moment, when all he needed was someone who wasn’t afraid to even fucking touch him. He was done with it all, so before he gave enough time for Snafu to answer, he grabbed the collar of Snafu’s uniform and slammed him against the (thankfully) locked door and mashed their lips together. 

It wasn’t nice, or kind. Their were teeth in all the wrong places and their noses got in the way, but they didn’t care. Hands were groping around and latching onto any available part of the other, clinging on for dear life, like they would drown if they didn’t have some solid purchase to hold onto. Sledge needed the feel of Snafu’s lips on his, the soft sounds Snafu made reverberating in his throat that sent shivers down Eugene’s spine and that raw, rough, _need_ no one but Snafu could give him. But most of all he needed Snafu to touch him and hold him and mark him. And to not be afraid Sledge will crack if he does because Snafu is the only person Eugene knows who can still feel the war on his skin can still hear it in the back of his mind and still see it whenever he closes his eyes.

When they finally came up for air after what seemed like hours, Snafu looked at Sledge and gave a shrug. “I thought I wasn’ good fo' ya. Thought it would be best if I left ya alone.”

Sledge pulled back a bit and said bluntly, “That is a load of fucking bullshit and you know it.”

“Shit. I know that.” This was the most uncomfortable and uncertain Eugene had ever seen Snafu. “I jus’ wanted to say I’m sorry.” He mumbled out, the last words sounding like they did when Eugene told him his dog died. “I never came back fo' nobody before.”

In response, Eugene pressed his lips against Snafu’s again. Slower this time, softer. When he pulled back  he said to Snafu, “That wasn’t forgiveness, I hope you know that. You’ll have to do a lot better than that to gain my forgiveness for this one, Shelton.”

Snafu smirked and it was the most beautiful thing Sledge had ever seen. Looking into Snafu’s eyes, he saw a spark of... something in them and felt like that missing part deep down had been found (even if it was now a bit ragged around the edges). And even if Snafu would never admit it, one of the many missing parts of him felt filled when Sledge smiled and slotted their lips together once more.

 

***

 

After Gene helped Snafu unpack what little clothing he had with him, they promptly fell on top of the guest bed in a tangle of limbs and long-forgotten smiles. 

For the first time they were able to take their time. They explored every inch of each other. Tongues languid and lazily mapping out the crevices of the others mouth as hands roamed everywhere they could. 

They were interrupted about 20 minutes later – shirts off, flies undone, Snafu straddling Sledge – when his mother called up that it was time for lunch.

Eugene walked down the stairs and into the kitchen with the first smile his parents had seen him wear since his first dinner back. And with that they concluded that Merriell Shelton could stay.

 

***

 

Nothing involving Merriell “Snafu” Shelton and Eugene Sledge would ever be perfect. But it was as close as it could get, which was good enough for them. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, they both started to heal bit by rough and painful bit. Snafu was his usual untalkative self, so Sledge was just there, this understanding presence, and that was all he really needed to be. Snafu held Sledge when the nightmares came, ebbing away the thoughts of war, and silently telling him it was ok and that he was here to stay (but, by God, Merriell Shelton was not about to get soft and tell him outright even if Eugene was sleeping like a rock, so he just thought the comforting words really loudly and hoped Sledge would understand). 

 

***

 

So, Snafu lived in the room across the hall from Eugene. His parents dared not tell Shelton he should leave because it was the happiest and most alive they had seen their son since before the war and they were not about to lose that over a few miss-manners. 

For the first hour after going to bed they would stay in their separate rooms until they heard Eugene’s parents snoring softly down the hall. Then one of them (usually Snafu) would carefully climb out of bed and creep into the other’s room. They would sleep pressed against each other like they used to in the cramped foxholes, but without worry of who was on watch. 

And if Eugene’s parents happened to see both boys leave the same room in the morning, they never mentioned it.

 

***

 

Eugene dreamt of the first time meeting Snafu. He was picking at the blisters on his feet, shirtless and brown and skinny as hell. The smirk that took up his entire face as he claimed the beds out from under the new replacements, bound to die within the first week. His eyes lighting up disconcertingly when they fell on Sledge. And Sledge promptly looking away because no one had ever looked at him like that before.

 

***

 

**Summer**

Spring turned to Summer and the humidity and heat rolled in bringing the summer thunderstorms.  

During the day they would sit outside under the big oak tree in Eugene’s front yard drinking iced tea and smoking, Snafu drifting off to the sound of Eugene talking and reading facts about one bird or another from his biology book, slowly curling and intertwining their fingers together and apart and together and – apart when his mother came out to ask what they were planning on doing for the rest of the day. To which Eugene replied, “Sit here. Go for a walk. I don’t know. Whatever we feel like doing.” With that, his mother would huff in a disapproving way and Snafu would chuckle softly. And as soon as Mary-Frank was out of eyesight, Sledge would take Snafu’s cigarette from his mouth, plant a kiss on his lips and rest his head back against the rough bark of the tree, watching as the other man’s pale eyes closed, soaking up the Alabama sun as smoke curled and puffed from his mouth into the cloudless sky.

 

***

 

On a particularly rainy, hot and humid day both boys were stuck inside, dreading the inevitable, ever-present nagging of Eugene’s mother.  

They were sitting in the living room sweating as the rain came down in sheets outside. 

Mary-Frank came in to find them both staring out into the rain.

“Hot isn’t it?” She said with a smile, trying to start a conversation before saying the thing she so obviously came in there to say.

“Yeah,” Snafu said with a drawl, “kinda like Pavuvu, don’t you think Sledgehamma’?”

Sledge nodded into the incredibly awkward silence that was left by his mother.

“Um, well,” his mother started, unsure of where to go from there. “I just came in to say,” she turned to Eugene, “that me and your father are going to your Aunt Fey’s for a week. Her daughter just got married and she says she needs some help going through some old boxes before she gets too old.” Mary-Frank cleared her throat, “And, um... Well, I need you and Merriell to watch the house while we are gone. Will you boys be ok?”

“Absolutely, mother. What d-ya think Snaf? Think we can hold our own for a week?” Sledge said with a smile playing on his lips as Snafu looked from Mary-Frank to look him dead in the eye.

“Yeah,” He said with a wide grin, making the one-syllable word at least two syllables longer in the way only Snafu could. “I s’ppose we could find somethin’ to do.” And there was some obvious underlying suggestions under that sentence punctuated by the barely-there wink at Sledge which left him blushing like a 12-year-old girl with a crush.

Thankfully, Mary-Frank was too preoccupied worrying about if they were sure that they would be completely fine, saying that if they wanted she could tell Aunt Fey that they couldn’t come up to Mississippi, to notice the wink and blush and obvious flirtation between the boys sitting in front of her. 

Two excruciatingly long, rainy days later (when Eugene’s parents were scheduled to leave), Eugene was finally able to convince Mary-Frank that he and Shelton would be fine and that they would call and to not worry because it was only a train ride away. They were barely able to push her onto the train to Mississippi before it took off without her.

 

***

 

As soon as Sledge opened the door of the large, old, house both boys now called home, he found himself pushed up against a nearby wall, the wind knocked out of him with the force, and Snafu’s mouth on his lips and neck. Sledge remembered somewhere in the back of his mind that Snafu was a lot stronger than he looked. 

Sledge’s hands found their way into Snafu’s thick curls, latching on almost to the point of pain, but Snafu was too preoccupied working Sledge’s mouth and shirt buttons open to care. 

With Snafu’s thigh between his legs, pushing forward into Gene, the friction caused a low hum of a moan escape his lips into Snafu’s wet, open mouth. He relaxed into every detail of Shelton until he was only supported by the constant weight and heat that was Snafu. 

They made short work of their shirts (they had had practice), and soon there was the glorious feeling of skin flush up against skin and Eugene forgot how to breathe as he tried to get as close as physically possible to Snafu.

They had done this before: exploring each other – memorizing each others bumps and bruises and freckles – but it never got much past that. Mostly because the walls of the house were paper-thin and the smallest noise could be heard (almost) throughout the entire house, and partly because they hadn’t been alone in the house long enough to do much anyway.

But now they had an entire week.

Sledge reached down between them and started to undo Snafu’s fly. Snafu followed suit on Eugene’s and soon they were standing in the middle of the hall with just their boxers and socks on. 

Snafu pinned him up against the wall again and started nipping up his neck from his collar bone, going back down to suck and run his tongue along the teeth marks. Sledge threw his head back to give him room for more, more, more and let out a guttural moan as Snafu’s mouth found it’s way to his jaw, just under his ear.

It was the most arousing thing Snafu had ever heard in his entire life and he needed to hear it again.

Snafu kissed and licked until their mouths met once again. Snafu with his hands on Eugene’s ass and Eugene with one hand tangled somewhere in Snafu’s hair, the other gripping along the expanse of his back pulling Snafu into him, both bodies pressed as close as they could get to one another without become a single entity. 

Snafu moved down Sledge still nipping and sucking and kissing slow and methodically at his pale torso, marking him in patterns as a reminder that Sledge was _his_. 

When Snafu got to his hips, in that soft piece of skin right next to the bone, he started biting and licking and sucking like he wanted to leave a mark Sledge wouldn’t dare forget. (And he didn’t; that big purple bruise accented with teeth marks would last months and be Snafu’s favorite to pinch at the most inconvenient times for Eugene.)

Ever so slowly, taking his time just because he could, he pulled down Eugene’s boxers and swallowed his cock.

Sledge stopped breathing and thinking all together. 

 

***

 

Somehow, they ended up in Sledge’s bed, naked, both ridiculously hard, rutting against each other. Sledge – on his back with his leg hooked around Snafu’s back, hands methodically running up and down the expanse of Snafu’s spine, short fingernails scraping bluntly, making Snafu shiver; and Snafu – one hand grabbing, fingernails digging in to make 5 crescent-shaped marks on the curve of Eugene’s ass in order to gain better leverage, and the other stuck underneath Eugene’s head, a fist caught in his fiery hair.

They soon got a rhythm of a grinding push and pull that created a friction neither of them ever thought could exist before this. 

They were panting and moaning as loud as they wanted and as loud as they could, each sound from one like poetry or art to the other. Their bodies singing from the noises caught in the back of throats, escaping when the other found a new place to kiss or touch or bite or hold.

Snafu pulled at Sledge’s hair exposing his incredibly pale neck so that he could suck a flaming red hickey onto his throat. Sledge held on for dear life. 

Snafu was close and couldn’t keep from thrusting forward into Gene in the same erratic time as his breathing. He leaned down and took Eugene’s mouth, licking and swiping. Took Eugene’s lip between his teeth and bit down, hard, until he tasted blood. Eugene actually whimpered as his body shook with strain.

Snafu leaned down farther and bit along Eugene’s neck down to his shoulder leaving a trail of burning teeth marks in his wake.

Sledge came with “Merriell” on his lips with Snafu following close behind.

 

***

 

By the 3rd day they had christened almost every room in the 2 story house, save his parents bedroom (both silently agreed it was off-limits completely for many, _many_ reasons) and the kitchen (“It just doesn’t seem right, you know? Besides my mother is the only one who actually uses it, it just doesn’t seem right.” complained Sledge, so they left it alone). 

 

***

 

They spent the days outside, now that the weather had gone back to sweltering hot again, sitting on the porch eating ice cream and licking the drips from the corners of each other’s mouths. And spent the nights in Sledge’s bed naked, arms resting lightly around each other in the hot sticky air.

During the day, the thoughts of war slowly, ever so painfully slowly, corroded away with each touch and kiss, until it became a dull rumbling in the back of their minds instead of the loud thunderous sound like it had been for much too long.

It was the closest to a heaven they had.

 

***

 

Eugene dreamed of Okinawa. Of the mud. Of Snafu’s broken stare and his own broken mind. Of how fucked up everything was there. The dream morphed into V-J day. Sitting under the stars. Sitting in the sun, shirts off, waiting for the trucks to take them back to civilization. And then the train ride back. Snafu’s stare drowning him, holding him underwater until he was gasping for air in the crowded train. He woke with a start (remembering what happened next, how he found himself, for the first time in months, alone), and saw Snafu watching him with his unreadable eyes that encased his mind with memories of silent, subtle touches and the knowledge that _he came back_ until he drifted back to sleep. 

 

***

 

The summer sun tanned their backs as they lay out on the back porch. The cloudless sky was slowly drifting overhead as the hours passed in comfortably thick silence. The greenest green of the trees was wavering in the blissful breeze as though underwater. And the sun, hot and heavy, burning down with such intensity only barely relieved by the breeze. 

The bruises and bite marks on Eugene seem to light up and burn red like his hair did in the sun, and Snafu couldn't help but prod or lick or bite one that caught his eye every once in a while. Eugene flinched slightly but never pulled away because he didn't ever, ever want to forget they were there. (They were a reminder that there was someone who understood without ever having to be told.)

It was the last day they had to themselves before Eugene’s parents got home. It was already around 1, and they weren’t about to waste their _entire_ day freckling in the sun (well, Eugene was the one freckling, Snafu was just getting tanner by the minute). 

So finally, after much grumbling from the half-asleep Snafu, they gathered enough energy to lazily pry themselves up from where they were and go inside. 

Snafu immediately laid down on the couch – feet up and an arm over his eyes – as usual. Eugene followed suit and laid down on top of him, face in the crook of his neck, and arms wrapped around his waist. 

There was an indignant huff from Snafu which Eugene pointedly ignored. 

“ ‘S too hot.” mumbled Snafu from somewhere under his own elbow.

“Don’t care.”

Eugene felt a shift of weight and next thing he knew he landed on his back, hard, on the floor next to the sofa with a triumphantly sleepy Snafu on top of him.

“Now see if you care how hot it is when you the one on the bottom gettin’ all crushed.” His head had fallen into the crook of Eugene’s neck in a mirror image of what their previous positioning had been, and Sledge could feel Snafu’s muttering rumble through him like a Tiger tank.

“You forget, _I_ usually bottom in this relationship anyway.” Sledge said with a small smile.

Snafu chuckled softly, the soft sound echoing through his body in a low hum. He lifted his head just enough so his words wouldn’t be lost in Eugene’s neck, “Oh, now this is a r’lationship?”

Eugene didn’t know it was possible to be that sarcastic in a mumble. As a response, he rolled them over again and stared down at Snafu and his smirk that Eugene either wanted to kiss until his lips were raw or punch right off his stupidly perfect face. 

“Yes. Yes it is.”

He went for the kiss this time. Tongue licking against sunburnt lips.

Then he heard the front door start to open.

 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so yeah. Cliff-hanger much? I am a total flake when it comes to my writing, so don't expect an update anytime soon, but I promise it will come eventually. Promise. Cross my heart. Anyway, comments and kudos are always welcome and appreciated (always). 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this (and hopefully give it kudos or comments?), it really means a lot to me. <3
> 
> *Update: I sorta edited some stuff i didnt like and fixed some spelling issues. It's been a damn long time since i last looked at this wow i am so sorry.


End file.
